


Mad Hatter

by Nephilim22



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Caring Bobby Singer, Caring Dean Winchester, Caring John Winchester, Crazy Sam Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Good Parent John Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, My First Fanfic, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Pre-Series, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Has Mental Health Issues, Sam Winchester Has PTSD, Sam Winchester Has Powers, Teen Sam Winchester, Trauma, Tricksters, Worried Dean Winchester, Worried John Winchester, everyones cares about sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:54:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29039712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nephilim22/pseuds/Nephilim22
Summary: Sam Winchester went missing when he was 13. Now, four years later, he shows up at Bobby's house bleeding and refusing to say much. He's changed, both physically and mentally. How will his family cope with this new Sam? And how long will Sam be able to hide and protect himself from his tormentors for? He really doesn't want to go back. At least he knows how to use his powers...
Relationships: Andy Gallagher & Sam Winchester, Ava Wilson & Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, John Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 38





	1. Prologue

_Get through security_

_Destroy tracking chip_

_Get to Salvage Yard, South Dakota_

Three things stuck in Sam's mind as he ran, repeating like a broken record; or like a short gif that friends sent you these days, the same video or recording playing itself in a loop. That's exacty what it was. A loop. The same three thouhgts looping in his mind, one after the other, again and again, in a routine his mind had developed. Those same three thoughts running a marathon in his head, stuck in an infinite loop-road; that's how it felt; organized in the same familiar way the young hunter had planted them in his head days prior. He had obliged them to co-operate, to run on repeat in his head for the past week, like slaves; only if they didn't, it was his own survival and freedom on the line. So his thoughts kind of had to co-operate, like it or not.

Sam wasn't usually the kind of person who would respond well to orders; in fact, he would usually ignore them and do whatever told however the hell he damn pleased. He did it how he thouhgt was right, taking into account his own safety and the others' he cared about. It was usually the same with his thoughs; they did whatever they damn pleased at that moment, and however they damn wanted. So Sam was so damn greatful his rebellious thoughts were co-operating this time, possibly one of the most important days in his life.

Sam's thoughts. They were an interesting and powerful thing. They would betray Sam often, but they also pleased the boy when he was in need of them. Most of the time these days all Sam had to rely on were his thoughts, his mind: his mind's blissful tricks, and daydreams, and even hallucinations sometimes. Anything that would help him escape from reality for a while, or ease the pain, or accompany him in his lonliness the days he was in isolation.

_Get through security_

_Destroy tracking chip_

_Get to Salvage Yard, South Dakota_

_Get through security_

_Destroy tracking chip_

_Get to Salvage Yard, South Dakota_

_Get through security_

_Destroy tracking chip_

_Get to Salvage Yard, South Dakota_

Those three thoughts, over and over. Each command in his mental list having a reversed plan of their own; plans he had already thought of, and memorized. The _How To Do's_ for each. But like every time, Winchester luck had to get in the way, and make some complications.

On the plus side, he has managed to get to his uncle's propety alive and walking. Barely. He could see an old truck parked at the side of the two-story house, a house that held so many memories from his childhood. He barely noticed the familiar black '67 Chevy Impala parked near the truck, closer to the younger man, as his vision blured. The boy had to blink a couple of times so he could re-focus on getting to the porch of the house wihtout collapsing, as his body swayed a bit due to exhaustution and blood loss.

Yeah, blood loss was one of the complications he had during his quest; he didn't manage to remove his tracking chip, didn't even have the time to stop long enough to try to, as _they_ managed to find out he had escaped sooner than he had planned; which destroyed about half of his plan as he had the determined sonsofbitches on his ass for hours, barely managing to take a whole breath in everytime he lost sight of _them_ in fear that they would catch up again. One of _them_ managed to shoot him on the side, causing him to bleed. Great. So he had to rip the t-shirt he was wearing underneath his flannel and wrap it around the wound to prevent himself from bleeding out completly. Even after he managed to loose them completly about two or three hours ago (he lost track of time), he didn't dare to stop for more than half a minute, paranoyed that _they_ would find him again. He couldn't risk it.

So that's how he ended up at Bobby's place, at nearly nightfall, his whole body ready to shut down at any moment, and at risk of major blood-loss. Thank God his wound had stopped bleeding a while ago.

As he stepped into the porch, he leaned heavily against the wall, and had a hard time lifting up his arm high enough to ring the doorbell, before it slopped back down tiredly. He hoped like hell that Bobby still lived here; the older man had owned that house for long before Sam was even born, and didn't seem to be getting rid of it any time soon the last time he visited, but then again, a lot can happen in four years. He should know that better than anyone.

A few long moments later Sam feared that no-one was going to open up, when sudlenly, in the blink of an eye, the door was slammed wide open and the end of a shotgun found a way to his head. “Who are you and what do you want?” A deep gruffy voice asked cautiously. And Sam wanted to cry.

When he heard that familiar voice and saw the man he hadn't seen or heard in years, he sighed heavily of relief and felt a weight lift from his chest. A bit of himself somehow felt a bit safer now, safer than he had felt in a long time, despite the loaded shotgun still pointing at his head. This man was like a parental figure to him, and he trusted him to keep him safe. He just needed to let the man know who he was, because he had no doubts he had changed appereance over the last few years. He's seventeen now. He thinks. He isn't sure what time of the year it is anymore.

“Bobby, it- it's me,” His shaky voice answered, pain, exhsatution and relief sounding clear in his voice. Showing it even clearer in his face as he looked up at the older man.

“That ain't answering squat, boy. Who are you and how do you know me.” It was supposed to be a question, Sam knew, but came out sounding as a command. He didn't care though, because he knew the man was just keeping caution. A strange bloody boy who looked like he hadn't had a night's rest in a year, showerd up at his doorstep asking for him, so of course he was being cautious. Especially knowing what's out there, the older man probably thought this was a trap of some kind, or maybe he took him for a bait that was trying to lure him out. Either way, whatever Sam said, he had to make sure to be convincing enough.

“Um- you might not remeber me,” _Idiot, of cousre he remembers you, it hasn't been that long._ Shut up, it's not my fault I can't think coheretly enough in my exhausted and pained state, I'm barely even lucid at this point! _Calm down idiot, and just tell him who you are without sounding suspicious or fake, before you get our freaking brain blown off._ Right sorry, I was being stupid. Now shut up, brain. “-but uh- my name is Sam.”

At Bobby's arched eyebrow, Sam continued: “It's me Bobby,” he paused to take a pained breath, “it's Sam Winchester.”

At that, Bobby's eyes widened for a second before his face darkened even more than before. “Look kid,” he spat out dangerlouslt low, “I don't know if this is some sick joke or somethin' but cut it out before I decide to treat you like the nigh'mares I keep in my basement and tear you a hell of a new one. I don't know who you are or how you know about Winchester, but that's not the sort of thing a sane person who wants to keep their brain inside their thick skull would joke about, got it? Now get outta my porch before I kick you out myself and call the sherif.”

_Funny, we're hardly even sane, Sam._

Sam ignored his brain's unecessary commentary as he realised he'd hit a nerve in Bobby. That man wouldn't usually snap so easily at just anyone, and he saw pain in his eyes. He knew how to read his family just like they new how to read him, and this man was family. He cringed a bit at the man's harsh words and threats, but he had to make him understand he was telling the truth. His expression turned sympathetic and unconsiously pulled the puppy dog eyes that would definetly give him away. “But, it's true, listen-” he hadn't meant for his voice to come out pleading, _well you're not doing a hell of a good job here, kid,_ and then paused abruply as he he got sharply interrupted by a different, yet familiar, voice.

“Look, get out of here before I decide to just shoot you myself!” A grave voice snapped. Sam looked to see two other men standing close behind Bobby, who he hadn't realized had been there this whole time, that had kept quiet until now. That voice he would recognise anywhere, and it matched the person he saw. The man's words came out in anger, but he could hear the masked out pain and grief in them. “D-dad?”

His voice came out suprised, happy, relieved, doubtful, so many different emotions pouring out from it, and from his facial expression; he hadn't expected to see him here now! As the young boy stared at the father he's longed for and missed all these years, he saw his father staring back as if trying to find something in his face, and then saw the exact moment relazation hit his father like a ton of bricks: eyes going wide and taking in a sharp inhale of breath. “It's r-really me, it's Sam, I s-swear.” It was getting harder to stay upright and not give into the pain and exhaustion. He didn't even notice he was shivering now. But he had to stay consious long enough to manage to convince them all. He had to. He would. He was. He will. _Damn it, not now!_

He looked back at Bobby to see the man staring at him with a look his tired mind could no longer comprehend. He moved his gaze back to his father and then to the man next to him. His brother. Dean! Oh God, Dean! His breath caught in his throat for a second and then it got quicker and couldn't help it as a smile made way to his face. “S-sammy?”

Sam nodded and looked at his brother with a look full of love and longing. _Crybaby_. What? He hadn't even noticed he had tears running along his face. He closed his eyes. He could hear muffled voices saying something. But he could barely make out what else they were saying, as he could feel his brain shutting down. “-ammy?” “-it really you?” “-kid – kay?!” “-bleeding...-” “- God.” He swore his body's battery had now reached a negative percentage, so he let his brain and body give into the exhaustion and then felt his knees give out under him, before he felt himsef falling, but he didn't feel the ground. Instead, he felt arms holding him. Weird. The last thing he heard amongst other uncoherently things was “bring him in” and then he happily welcomed unconsiousness in a bone-crushing hug.

* * *

He didn't need to worry about being safe anymore; he know he shouldn't let his guard down, but he was willing to let his saftey into the hands of other people for just this once in all these years. He desereved at least that much of paranoia-less for once. He had already made them belive it was really him (he hoped), and that was all he wanted, to be in his family's care again, them knowing it was him. Maybe the eyes were what gave him away. He still had the same greenish-blue-hazel puppy dog eyes, that just couldn't be replaced. Dean used to say they were unique. And thankfully they were bright enough that you could even make them out at nightime. It was dark outisde, yes, although the moonlight seemed to light up the darkness more, and God hadn't he missed the beauty of the outside world, of the freaking moonlight and stars?

But still, they might not have recognised him for appereances. I mean, it's not like he went through a massive glow-up, but more like, from a short lanky 13 year old kid with freckles and a lump of shaggy hair, to a nearly-tall-as-his-dad-and-brother teenager who had gone through puberty, had a bit more mature voice, more muscle, fainter freckles on his face, and still had a lump of messy shaggy hair but longer. So yeah, he didn't rely on being recognised because of his appereances. And his brain and sanity were messier than his life altogether nowdays, so that, he couldn't rely on either. The only thing he really thought he'd be recognised by were his eyes. And maybe hair. Although his face was practically the same, just less childish and a bit more sharp and mature. The important thing was that they had recognised him at the end. And he was so damn greatful for that.


	2. Newly Found Teen With Newly Hidden Secrects

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm supposed to be doing school work as I have semi-pressencial school days, but I completly lost track of time. Oops.
> 
> Warnings: blood, panic attacks.

_"You just don't learn, do you?"_

_"It was killing them! My friends-"_

_"We're extending your isolation time to one month. Maybe that ought to teach you to follow orders next time."_

_"I'd do it again in a heartbeat if it meant sparing them pain. They're inocent!" I seethed._

_"You must learn to do what your told." He thrust me into the confined, cold metal room and I landed on my elbows. I turned my head to glare one last time at the masked man as he slammed the wide, heavy door closed, making a screeching sound before it clanged harshly against the frame._

_I pushed myslef up in a sitting position and tucked my knees against my chest, turning my head downcast and hidding myself behind my long limbs. I leaned back against the solid, icy metal wall and shut my eyes tightly, unwilling to glance at the confined, dark and lonley space I was locked in. To be honest, it scared me. I allowed myself to mourn quietly and bitterly against my legs._

_I peeked at my surroundings momentarily and saw nothing except darkness, but I could feel the limited air as well as space, I could feel the walls cramping in around me, and then suddlenly I felt a tightness in my chest and my breath was coming out short and and quick, and then I couldn't breathe. Panic settled within me along with a severe sensation of calutrophobia, and my tears were running freely now; I tried expanding my body to take in as much space as possible but then decided otherwise and tucked my legs against me again and sobbed in quick gasps. One month here. It wasn't just endless painful days anymore, no. Now it was a fucking month._

Sam shot his eyes wide open, taking a sharp intake of breath. He stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, heart racing, while his sluggish brain tried to make sense of the fact that it was no longer dreaming, unconssiosness slowly backing away, and consiousness taking in its place.

After calming his breath down considerably and his vision had cleared enough, he sighed. He twitched his lips in a funny way, cornering at the left side of his mouth, and then he jumped a bit in his place, trying to bounce back up in his unconfortable and bouncy cushion.

But the bounce never came, instead drawning him deeper into the fibre, and the cushion wasn't bouncy nor unconfortable, which left him with an unsettling feeling at the back of his throat since he'd grown accoustumed to sleeping on it over the past few years.

This wasn't his cushion.

This belonged to another human. With different skin, different DNA, different hair... this was someone else's propety. Not his. Not his. He doesn't know the background of this coushion, what has happened to it, who had touched it; he didn't have control over it. The control was gone. Not his. Not his!

He instantly panicked.

The miniscule control he had over his life was gone. Banished. Taken away from him.

Everyhting in his life was always controled 24/7; the food he ate, where he had to go, what he had to do at that moment, the consquienes when he didn't obey... everyhting. Even the use of his own powers were controled. He couldn't use them freely, or _they_ would know. He wasn't allowed. The only times he could use them was during training, and he had to do exactly what _they_ said with them; and also when they performed tests on him, of course.

The only time he ever got control over anything was over his personal things. Which included his cushion, his blanket (until it had been confiscated from him last year for trying to suffocate a staff member), and his thoughts. That's it. And loosing control over one of his limited things set him on edge. And he suddlenly couldn't breathe so he shot up into a sitting position from where was laying.

Gasping at the sudden pain near his abdomen, he instintevly cluntched it and then suddlenly all of yesterday came rushing back in flashes;

_He had manged to escape._

_His plan had failed sligtly as_ they _had followed him for hours._

_He hadn't removed the tracking chip._

_He had gotten shot near his abdomen.-_

Sam glanced down at the flannel covering his wound then. He couldn't see throught the cloth, but he could make out the depth and pain radiating from the wound coming out in invisible waves that he could indentify through some sort of quantum relam dimention that he performed with his vision. He could also see that the bullet was taken out and the wound had been cleaned and bandeged.

They next few flashes were a bit blury and faint, but he could make out a few scenes, images and words;

_He had gotten to Bobby's house._

_Bobby had oppened the door..._

_In the next flash the man was threating him about something. He looked pissed._

_Then his dad and Dean were there._

_The recognision in father's eyes._

_Then a “S-Sammy?”_

He blinked a few times then looked around the familiar living room. It was empty of people (apart from him) but everyhing else looked just as he remembered it: the desk at the end of the room, messy books scattered on top of it, the book shelves at its side, the chairs in the corner, the orange painted walls with designs on them, the mirror in the wall in front of him, and the couch opposite the mirror and somewhat next to the kitchen entrance, which he realised was the cushion he had been sleeping on top of. It still uneased him a bit to be away from his own furniture, but the couch was definetly not foreign.

He smiled tiredly and wiped his eyes from the tears that had built up and were threatining to fall, as he remembered some of his chilhood memories here.

Just then, he heard footsteps aproaching his way and he froze. He was prepering himslef for something, he didn't know what, but then visibly relaxed as he saw his dad enter, who froze in place as he realized that Sam was awake.

“You're awake.”

* * *

_8 hours earlier:_

John and Dean had arrived to Bobby's place two days ago, for a weekend's rest they both had desperatly needed. Bobby had offered them to stay a for day longer though, to make sure they were rested up and maybe help with the cars in the backyard, to which they had refused. The old man liked the company, but for the past four years, both Winchesters had drawned themselves in hunting, looking for their youngest, barely resting. It took him a few phone calls to the men, a lot of denials, insistive and intimidating lawer-like argumental points on his behalf, and then about half an hour of threats; but he had finally convinced them to come, and here they were now.

Two days later and John was already packing so they could leave the next morning, nearly-three days had been enough rest apparently, and he was loading the half-cleaned guns into his duffel. Dean was looking for his baggy AC/DC tee around the whole house, he forgot where he had left it, and, how on Earth had he managed to loose a t-shirt here??

As the doorbell ran, Dean groaned, closing the fridge upon not finding his tee there either. He was getting furstrated. 

"I'll get it." Bobby muttered and they heard the door open. A few moments later they heard Bobby raise his voice, and they glanced at each other from where they were standing, then made their way to the front porch to see what was going on.

The first thing they noticed was Bobby pressing the end of a shotgun at someone's head. The second thing they noticed was a kid in his mid-teens standing there looking like Death warmed over; he looked like crap honestly, messy hair, blood stained clothes, and ready to hit the ground at any second. The men could barely make out anymore of his features as it was dark outside, but they didn't miss the way his eyes stared up at Bobby pleadingly. His hazel-green eyes. They felt a muscle-tightness pain in their chest as they were reminded of Sammy. Oh Sammy. 

"It's me Bobby." the kid said in a soft, shaky and throaty tone. "It's Sam Winchester."

Their chests and lungs seemed to contract even further at the mention of their missing youngest, making it hard to breathe. How dare this kid have the balls to pose as their youngest, to _mock_ at them?!

Before any of the older Winchesters could say anything, Bobby started throwing out threats at him with a tight tone. At that, the kid seemed taken aback and hurt, but also somewhat sympathetic. After Bobby's outburst, he tried again with pleading, big, watery puppy dog eyes. That set John off as he got too reminded of his beloved youngest, and he cut the kid off mid-sentence.

"Look, get out of here before I decide to just shoot you myself!" he snapped out with a thick tone, not being able to take it anymore. The kid looked at him then and he swore his felt is heart melt. "D-dad?"

Only Sammy could manage to fill so many different emotions in one word.

Only Sammy had those eyes. Only he could look at you like that.

This had to be his son in front of him. He just knew it. Beside him, Dean was barely holding it together. The young adult was feeling so many different things at the same time, he thought he might explode from emotions and internal chick-flick. As Dean looked at the teen in front of them, he just knew it was his baby brother. He had figured it out as soon as he heard him speak, but that didn't ease the pain any less; it just added more emotions and relief. But now that the boy glanced at his way upon just noticing him, it was the confirmation he needed, and then both brothers shared dozens of similar emotions filled with love and longing and _ohmygod_ s.

"S-Sammy?" He didn't bother masking the emotion in his tone. Becasue Sam was back. He was alive. Thank god! And he was here! And ohmygod Sammy was here! And OHMYGOD HE WAS BLEEDING AND HURT!! 

"Sammy, is it really you?" He heard his father ask, pain, longing, cautiosness and hope filling in his tone. But he couldn'y concentrate on that, because his SAM WAS BLEEDING AND HE HAD TO DO SOMETHING! But the shock wouldn't let him move, his mind was racing, but his body wouldn't comply yet.

"Hey kid, are you okay?" he heard Bobby ask, who had put his weapon down and must've also realized this was their Sam because of the concerned tone he was using. Dean glanced back at Sam and saw that the kid had closed his eyes and was sawying on the spot, and next thing he knew he was shouting something along the lines of "he's bleeding!" as he came out of his shock instantly and moved like a flash in time to catch his brother as his knees buckled under him. He heard and "oh God" somewhere behind him, but he didn't pay attention to it as his whole focus was on the kid in his arms, who appeared to be loosing consiousness if he hasn't already.

"Bring him in, boy!"

As Dean carried in an unconssious teen (who they hoped was their Sam) with the help of his dad and layed him on he living room sofa, Bobby had gone off looking for the medical kit. Dean unbuttoned the kid's flannel and inhaled sharply upon seeing the amount of blood staining the ripped t-shirt that was wrapped around his wound. He finished taking the flannel off of him and at Bobby's nod when he came back, he unwrapped the bloody and sticky piece of cloth.

Then they all set to work, John cleaning the wound to prevent infections, Bobby then stiched him up and Dean bringing in the water and other supplies they older men asked for. Then they had injected an AV full of blood into Sam's arm, to regain all he had lost. Yeah, you could find pretty much everything in Bobby's house if you knew where to look. When they were finshed Dean put a wet towel on top of the kid's (he refused to aknowledge Sam was a teenager now) forhead, to cool him down a bit. Bobby and his dad brought in a series of different weapons a few minutes later, and started performing them on Sam. They couldn't be too careful. When they were done with that, knowing they didn't have a demon or a shapeshifter or something inside the house, they went quiet for a few minutes looking at the unconssious kid, wondering.

Dean was the one to break the silence, voicing what was in everyone's thoughts, "How do you think he got here?"

"I don't know, son. We're not even sure where he was to begin with." John answered, frowning.

"Yeah, but, what do you think happened?"

"Dean, I don't know, we'll ask him when he wakes up. He might not even be our..." John left the question hanging, unable to finish it. He didn't want their hopes to be banished so soon after they had built them. It would crush them again.

"Well then, I guess we'll just have to wait until he wakes up and then we'll figure out if he's really who he says he is." Bobby said.

Both older Winchester men nodded, and then Dean said, "He doesn't really look like when he was thirteen... but you can still see it in his face that it's him. Do you understand?" 

Bobby and his dad made aknowledgement sounds. "Maybe we'll recognise him more when he gets some colour onto that pale face of his." Bobby said.

For the rest of the night the three men had taken turns in sleeping and watching Sam (not like they had wanted to sleep but Bobby had made them). After a few hours of this rutine though, Dean had fallen asleep on the chair, from watching the kid, and no one else had woken up intil the next morning.

The next morning Dean woke up to a sore neck, and then streched his muscles hearing pops. He sighed and then glanced at the boy sleeping on the cushion. He wished he had slept on the cushion... Wait- what? He blinked a few more times to clear his vision and then remembered last night, and oh _shit,_ it's Sam! Sammy was here! It wasn't a dream or an ilusion! They had finally gotten him back! He felt like a little kid who had woken up the morning of Chrstmas and had just found his Christmas presents under the tree. He was so incredibly happy and in awe. He decided to let the kid, who he was pretty sure was his little brother, stay asleep and then stumbled into the kitchen with a smile on his face to get some coffee. Suprisingly, he found his dad and Bobby in there, drinking their own coffee.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" No good-mornings. No greetings. Just staright to the accusation. It was morning, and it was before-caffeine Dean, what did you expect?

"Good morning to you too." Bobby muttered, pouring some coffee in a cup for him and handing it over.

"We would've moved you to get you into a better sleeping position but we knew if you woke then you wouldn't go back to sleep. And you needed the rest." His dad said.

"Mm." Dean sat down and sipped his beloved coffee.

A few minutes later they all went upstairs to get dressed and cleaned. It seemed like they were going to be staying here for longer after all, so John and Dean took their duffle bags upstairs and unloaded them. John was the first to come back downstairs, and as he entered the living room, completly froze upon seeing the teen awake.

* * *

John had called Dean and Bobby downstairs and now they were all in the living room; Dean, John and Bobby standing in front of Sam and and silently staring at him, and Sam was still sitting on the couch. Sam was not about to break the silence, he had learnt how to stay quiet for hours, not making a sound, and having limited patience, but that doesn't mean it wasn't making him unconfortable. He didn't like being watched. The silence strained for a few more seconds.

"Okay, so um, are you really Sam Winchester?" Bobby broke the silence. Sam glanced at him and smiled a bit, showing his dimples. "Yeah, uncle Bobby, I am. And thanks for uh... patching me up."

Bobby pretended his heart was not suddlenly in tears. "No problem, kid."

"Where were you all this time?" Dean said, voice thick with emotion. 

Sam looked at him then, but stayed quiet for a few seconds. "I'm fine now Dean." 

Fine, that question will be left for later, then. 

"How," John swallowed, "how are you feeling?"

"I'm good."

Silence again.

"How did you get shot?" John asked.

"I escaped. I was followed. I got shot." Sam explained in a neutral tone.

"Escaped from where?" Dean asked. Sam looked up at him then. Then glanced at dad, and back to Dean. They really didn't know? Who was he kidding, of course they didn't.

"A guarded place, in the middle of no where. I mangaed to escape and find out where I was so I could get back here." he was really trying to spill as little information as possible. He didn't want to think about it right now, not now he was free! Not now he didn't have to worry anymore! He wouldn't think about it. Not just yet.

Dean sighed, and got closer to Sam until he was standing a foot from him. Sam looked up at him with wide hazel green eyes to stare up at his big brother and then got up and threw himself at him. Dean intantly wrapped his arms around Sam while Sam was clutching him as if he was a lifeline. In a way, he kind of was. If it wasn't for the hope he always had of seeing Dean again, he might not have had the emotional strength he needed to get out. He probably wouldn've ended up brain-washed or dead like the rest of his friends there; too obidient, and fearful of standing up for himself. Just like the others. No matter how much pain he went through for this, he alwasy ended up getting back up, becasue of Dean. Dean gave him that strength, even if he wasn't there physically. Dean grasped Sam as well, and let a few tears fall. Oh how much he had missed his little brother. Ever since he got kidnapped. The hope that Sam was alive was what kept both him and his dad going everyday; they wouldn't be able to survive the death of another memeber of their famiy. Especially if said member was Sammy. He was Dean's whole world, his only reason for living.

John and Bobby stood there smiling at the brothers with watery eyes. But they would not let the tears fall. 

A whole minute later, despite not wanting to let go, Dean held Sam back a bit, wanting to see how much he had changed over the years, now that there was better lighting. He held his shoulders, not wanting to let go just yet, and took his time to really watch his face closely, devouring every single detail possible on his face. And damn if he had changed; despite his eyes and longer shaggy hair, his face was a slightly longer and sharper, more mature but still managing to look somewhat like a kid. Dean rubbed a thumb over Sam's soft cheek, it had fainter freakles now, and smiled as his brother squirmed.

"Jesus, would you look at yourself little man?" Dean said softly, still tracing his eyes over Sam's face. "I'm not little anymore, Dean." his brother mumbled quietly with a slight smirk.

Then, he noticed just how true that was. He was _not_ looking down at his brother. He was eye-level with him. "Holy mother-" he took a step back to see it clearer.

"What the hell?" He looked at Sam up and down, because jeez, the kid was a mere inch shorter than him! How?! He was only sixteen, so he still had more growing to do. "I promised you when you were eleven that you would _not_ become taller than me!" Sam laughed awkwardly.

Dean glanced at his father and uncle, "Do you- do you see how tall he's gotten?" he asked them antonished, gesturing at Sam with his left arm. Indeed they did, they were looking just as incredulous as he was. Then Bobby smirked and patted Sam's back, looking at Dean, "I told you he'd get taller than you one day!"

Dean glared at him half-heartly, "Yeah well, let's just enjoy the inch he lacks to be taller than me while it lasts."

John came closer to his sons and was smiling and chcukling, "Jesus, Sam. You were such a short kid, how did this happen? You know, I didn't believe Bobby when he said that one day you'd outgrown your brother, but...."

"Daaaad!!!" Dean protested and they all chuckled. Internally though, along with a bit of happiness, they felt longing and sadness. They had missed Sam's growth spurt; he'll probably grow some more, yes, but it's never going to be like the first spurt. And they had missed it. They had missed so much. And now Sam was not a kid anymore. But they were happy to have him back, and even if they had missed a couple of years with him, they were sure as hell determined to have those back.

But little did they know they'd have some complicated and dangerous couple of months ahead of them.

* * *

After a while of chick-flicks, a few more hugs and conversations, Sam started getting fidgety.

"Hey Sam, you should sit down, you're still hurt." Dean said, frowining at his brother worridly. Sam snapped his head up at him. "Huh?"

"You still have a healing bullet wound, son. Sit down." his dad ordered.

"I'm fine, dad." Sam strained out, looking distressed. He had been trying to act normal for a while now, and the best way to do that was to talk the least amount possible, and they wouldn't notice. So he had been doing that since he awoke. Saying limited words. But we couldn't hide it forever, could he? His mind was filling up with anxiety now, he had to get rid of the tracking chip, which was located underneath the skin in his left wrist. He had to or _they_ would find him. That thought was getting harder and harder to ignore by the minute, and now he couldn't dismiss it like he'd been doing earlier. The thought was shouting at him, echoing in his ears, tauting at him louder each second.

_COME ON SAM, DO IT. OR DO YOU WANT TO GO BACK?!_

Shut up, not now!

_GET RID OF IT, SAM._

It got too insistive and he couldn't take it anymore. He had to destroy that damn thing. He ignored the pain in his side, like he's been doing since he awoke. He could deal with the pain, he'd learnt how to, and pain had been so regular these past years, it didn't bother him that much anymore. He had developed a high pain tolerance. 

"Sammy? Are you okay?"

Sam aburply turned and started marching towards the kitchen. The three older hunters glanced at each other worriedly, and quickly followed at his heels. "Sam, boy, what're ya doin'?"

Sam was looking around frantically when his gaze fell on a block filled with long culteries, then he strode forward to the kitchen counter and grabbed a sharp knife from it; he inspected it for a moment, and made a small approving nod. Following that, he brought it up to his left wrist. He could hear his family shouting franticaly somehwere near him but he chose to ignore it. It had to be done. He turned around to lean his back against the counter, unknowingly facing his family now, and pressed the knife against his skin in a calculated angle so he wouldn't mess up any vital arteries, and sliced across his wrist, quick and deep.

Soon there was blood poodling from the teen's wrist. Dean, John and Bobby stopped dead in their tracks, shock stilling them for a moment before they all but sprinted the last few steps towards their youngest, and Bobby took the knife from him and placed it on the counter, while John held him still, Dean brought towels and pressed them into Sam's skin. "WHAT THE HELL?!" He shouted at him, horrified. Was the kid trying to kill himself?! 

"Sam, what the hell was that?!" his dad demanded him sharply. He looked angry, and scared. Sam was confused, why would he look at him like that? And why were they trying to stop him? Didn't they understand this was extremelly important and had to be done? It had to be done! He needed to finsh his task. His plan! Then _they_ wouldn't be able to track him down and take him away again and his plan would also be completed!

Sam snatched his wrists away from Dean and the towel and brought them up to his face, seeing if he could spy the tracking chip from there. The chip wasn't too deep in, so he could make out something slightly shiny placed under an arterie. He couldn't be 100% sure with this much blood coming out though. Before Dean could grab his hands again, he got out of his father's hold in an instant and went over to the sink to put his arms underneath the water, so it could clear some of the blood away and see better where the chip was.

"Sam!" he heard his father shout behind him. Then Dean went over and stood next to him, grasping his arms under the water so he wouldn't let go again, "Dammit Sam, what were you thinking?" Dean asked quietly and trembulus. "We just got you back..." he said that part so quietly, Sam could barely make it out. He instantly felt guilty for making his brother feel this way. But he'll explain everthing after it was done. He couldn't risk passing out now, before destroying the thing.

When he saw where it was approximately, he said "Dean," so his brother could get distarcted momentarily to look at him, making his hold weaken slightly, but enough for Sam to be able to yank his hands out of his grasp, and then walked towards were Bobby had left the knife. But as he reached out for it, Bobby got in his way and grabbed him by the shoulders, immobilizing him.

He struggled against him and his father, who had also grabbed him from behind to still him. "Sam, stop-" Bobby started.

"Let. Me. Go." he gritted.

"Sam, I won't let you-"

"JUST GIVE ME THE KNIFE!"

The three older men were suprised and hurt to hear the youngest yell at them like that. He seemed desperate. Just what was going on with him?

"Sam." John swallowed and wanred.

Sam growled for a few moments and then took a deep breath. Next thing they knew, Sam had kicked Bobby in the knee, weakening him for a moment and using that to his advantage to quickly get out of his hold, then he kicked his dad where the sun don't shine and got out of his grasp as well, all in a matter of a second and a half, before the men had time to recover; he was suprisingly fast and agil. After that he quickly jumped away from them and grabbed the knife, and then Dean was runniing towards him so he ducked to dodge him and ran up to the dining table, where he held the knife firm in his hand to finish what he started. 

The three men were looking at Sam with pleading, horrified eyes. Sam just frowned at them and then dug out the chip. Don't get him wrong, it hurt and stung like a bitch, but he could deal with the pain for now, adrenalin clouding his other senses. As he felt the tip of the knife nudge the miniture object, he re-angled it downward to be able to get it out easier without touching the main artery. When he held it on top of the tip of the knife after digging it out of his flesh, he tilted his his busy hand so the bloody tracking chip slid down the knife and landed on his palm, then placed the knife of the table. He breifly glanced at the others who were frowning at the object in his hand in confussion.

"What is that?" without looking back at his father, he held the chip in his palms underneath the still-running water, and answered tonelessly, with a hint of annoyance.

"That. Is a tracking chip. _They_ inserted it underneath our skins the week after they kidnapped us. It was vital I got it out and destroy as soon as possible. Of course, I would have done it on my way here, as I had originally wanted, but the plan had kind of taken a distressin' trun half way... I didn't know any othe' way to..." He felt his words become more tired and heavy as he talked, the blood loss leaving him slightly unfocused. "Towel... pls'e"

The three men suddlenly became aware that Sam was still loosing a lot of blood, and rushed at his side, wrapping the previous towel around his wrists again. Dean became worried that Sam hadn't shown any signs of pain after he had slit his wrists. Normal people would be in a great deal amount of pain, and showing it. Hell, even him, but Sam seemed barely bothered by it appart from the fact that it was tiring him out.

"There must have been another way, Sam. If only you'd told us, we would've helped!"

"No oth'r way."

"Who are _they_? They were the ones that had you all this time right? What are they?" Bobby asked.

Sam just kept quiet, staring intently at a point in the sink.

_"You can't hide from us."_

_"The power you children hold within you could be very useful."_

_"Concentrate Samuel!"_

_"Now, we're just going shock you, to see how your body and mind react to this."_

_"You are connected to her. Incredible!"_

_"Bring them in for more tests."_

_"We're just going to look inside your mind. Don't take these off and do not dis_ _terss."_

_"...so disobedient."_

_"It's time for training time with the other special kids."_

_"What do you say we set you right once and for all, you insubordiante boy?"_

Sam snapped out of his trance, blinking back the distressing memories and swallowing a lump of anxiety in his throat. 

"Human. They're just humans."

Then he threw the chip to the ground and stepped on it with all the force he could gather, hearing it crush against his foot. With building despise, he slowly rolled his fingers towards each other, closing the formed fist forecfully- ignoring the sudden sting of pain from his wrist- and he turned it slightly; following that, he found himslef smiling contenly and bittersweetly with relief upon feeling the chip completly shatter satisfyingly beneath him, because of the telekinetic force and pressure he applied to it. He glanced back to make sure his family hadn't seen what he had done, and then found himself slumping against his brother as unconsiousness once again took him in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the flashbacks don't make any snese now, but I'm going to start setting them in chronological order from next chapter on. There will probably be some Dean, John and Bobby flashbacks on how they dealt with things eventually.


End file.
